Proper Behavior
by Mariole
Summary: Young Merry finds it’s not easy being a proper gentlehobbit around the holidays, and Frodo isn't helping.


_Dedicated to Ms. Maggot at K-D, who shares conceptual creation credit. _

-o-o-o-

Esmeralda Brandybuck marched down the family corridor in a high temper. With a smial full of holiday visitors, she was in no mood to tolerate pranks perpetrated on her young guests, even if the offender was her own son. But it wasn't to Merry's room that she marched. Though the girls had duly identified the culprit, Esmeralda knew that the true guilt lay in another direction.

She lightened her step as she reached the closed bedroom door. Leaning forward, she pressed her ear to the wood. Sure enough, from within came a rhythmic, burping sound, followed instantly by smothered squeals of delighted laughter.

Esme threw the door wide. "_Frodo Baggins!_"

Two guilty faces turned towards her as she stood scowling upon the threshold: the childish visage of her son, and the room's normal occupant, her teenaged ward. They were sitting on the edge of Frodo's bed, both of them naked save for their breeches. Upon her entrance, Esme's young ward sprang to his feet and scrabbled for his discarded shirt.

"What is it, Aunt Esme?" he asked, shrugging into his sleeves as quickly as possible, given that he wouldn't meet her eye.

"Mum!" cried the sprite on the bed. "Look what Cousin Frodo taught me!" Merry put his pudgy-fingered hand to his armpit. He grinned broadly. "I can play, _Oh, Happy Yule_!"

Before Esme could protest, Merry began to pump out the "tune", flapping his arm up and down against his cupped hand.

_Floop, pfat-pfat pfpfpfoooooo—_

Esme grimaced. "_Meriadoc Brandybuck, stop that noise!_"

Merry froze in mid-pump, blinking at her in surprise. "What's wrong?"

Esme fought to control her temper. Across the room, Frodo buttoned his shirt as fast as he could, as if being properly dressed would magically alleviate her anger.

"Merry," Esme said calmly, "did you play _Happy Yule_ to old Reginard's daughters in the children's breakfast room this morning?"

Merry watched her with big eyes. "No."

Esme blinked. She had rarely known Merry to be untruthful. She asked pointedly, "Did you or did you not pester the girls the entire time they were trying to eat, by making those… noises?"

"Oh, yes!" Merry's face showed not the least repentance. "But it wasn't _Happy Yule_. I only just learned it. For Dora and Petunia, I played _Silver Bells_."

Esme took a breath. "Merry, the actual tune is not the point. No one wants to eat when that… that flapping sound—"

"It sounds like a fart." Merry giggled, covering his mouth.

"That _sound_," repeated Esme sharply, "is not appropriate entertainment for our guests. It's time you learnt that. But _you_—" She turned on Frodo fiercely, who jumped back and looked at his toes. "You are _certainly_ old enough to know that. What possessed you to teach such disgraceful tricks to your very impressionable young cousin?"

Frodo murmured to the floor, "I think it's funny."

Esme pursed her lips. She knew how formidable she could look, with her fists planted on her hips and her feet four-square and solid on the floor. "Such juvenile behavior is never funny, Frodo. This disgusting bit of tutoring will stop as of now. Do I make myself clear?"

Two high spots of color decorated Frodo's cheeks. His waistcoat, which he had shrugged on hastily over his shirt, hung loose beneath his downcast head. "Yes, Aunt Esme."

Esme nodded, satisfied. "Well, then." She turned towards her son. "Merry, get dressed, and join me in the common room."

Merry was sobered by the scolding. "Yes, Mum."

Esme turned sharply towards the hall, and abruptly stopped. Saradoc was standing in the corridor, looking moderately amused.

Esme's anger flooded back. "Did you hear what Merry did? It was all Frodo's doing, of course."

Saradoc extended his hands to gently touch her arms. "Calm yourself, my dear. I heard the whole sorry tale from Pandora's mother."

"Well, then." Esme snorted. "Perhaps you can teach these truants the kind of behavior that is expected of proper gentlehobbits."

"I think I can. Now, we have a new influx of Tooks awaiting you in the common room. Do go and give them greeting. I'll have a chat with these two."

"I wish you would. It's so embarrassing—"

"I'll take care of it. Now, off you go." He kissed her cheek.

Esme gave Saradoc a hard look. His composure was an odd contrast to her rattled feelings. However, if he gave the boys another lecture, she supposed that was all to the good.

Still irritable over the absurdity of lads, she started down the corridor.

-0-0-0-

Saradoc watched his wife safely down the hall, then knocked on Frodo's open door. His young ward was just fastening the last buttons on his waistcoat. Merry, sitting upon the bed, was still sorting out the sleeves of his shirt.

Sara looked from one to the other. "Bare-chested lessons?" he inquired.

"It makes it easier to learn," said Merry, "because you get a better stick with just skin. Right, Frodo?"

Frodo murmured something indistinguishable, keeping his head down.

Sara stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He noticed the room's single chair, and pulled it over. "Now, then," he said, seating himself, "what's this that you've been learning?"

"_Oh, Happy Yule_," said Merry brightly. "It's a really good one—only," his excitement fled, leaving him deflated, "I'm not to play it anymore."

"I agree that you'd best not play it for any more of our female guests—at least, not while your Mum is in such a taking."

At this, Frodo peeped through his fringe hopefully.

"But I agree," Saradoc continued. "It's a smashing song." He leant towards Merry on the bed. "Do you know," he said in a hushed voice, "that I can play _Good King Argeleb_ on the back of my knee?"

Merry's eyes became like saucers. "Can you?"

"Oh, yes! It's trickier than the armpit, but quite effective once you get the feel of it. Here, Frodo, sit down. Be easy. Now, hold out your leg like this—"

Frodo's unease had vanished. He watched Saradoc with twinkling eyes. "What would Aunt Esme say to all this?"

Sara answered with seeming seriousness. "I'm afraid, dear Frodo, that there are things some lasses will never understand. To our loss, Merry, your dear mum appears to be among them. However, there will always be those of us who can appreciate the humor of a truly funny noise. It is our solemn duty to pass this knowledge on to the next generation."

Frodo broke into one of his rare smiles, lightening Sara's heart. Beside him, Merry hopped with eagerness, his unbuttoned shirt flapping. "Teach me the song, Dad!"

"All right. Trouser leg up, knee bent, hand held _so_. Now…"

_Pfftt-pfttt pffut-pffut pffat-pffat pffuff…_

Merry fell over backwards, howling with glee.


End file.
